


Tales From Another World

by Words_in_the_Wind



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Blood and Violence, Gen, Gnome TommyInnit, Half-Elf/Siren Wilbur Soot, Half-Orc Techno, Satyr Tubbo, Winged Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), more characters as story goes on - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28732839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Words_in_the_Wind/pseuds/Words_in_the_Wind
Summary: A ranger, creeping through the forests, keeping to the fringes of civilization to fight off encroaching beasts.A spell-sword who feels most at home in the middle of a battlefieldA bard, rejected by his family, and finding a new oneAn artificer, with clever fingers and a cleverer mindThis is a collection of stories, about a family who breaks, and comes back together, always.aka, what if the Dream SMP characters were in a fantasy world
Comments: 1
Kudos: 47





	1. The one where the characters are introduced

**Author's Note:**

> Hallo, welcome to my first work in for the Dream SMP.
> 
> DnD based fantasy world fusion, go!
> 
> Will do my best to update every week (probably the weekend), feel free to scream in the comments or on Tumblr if I miss a week (https://words-in-the-wind.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Kudos, Bookmarks and Comments feed this author inspiration and motivation

A light whistle fills the air in the forest, causing various wildlife to perk up, to see a massive winged figure making his way through their domains. Most don’t bother the figure, recognizing a fellow caretaker of the forest. Some, naturally, are more curious than others, venturing up to the large lantern on a staff that the bird-folk holds, strange orange lights flickering within. Other lights, very similar to the ones inside the lantern dance around him, as if playing within the massive cloak and robes the figure wore. One particularly brave deer noses at one of the lights, and it laughs, a high tinkling noise that startles the skittish animal. It bounds away and the Aarakocra trills in laughter, patting the spirit lightly.

“Come on. I told you that animals like deer are skittish. Don’t be upset when they run from you lot.”The rest of the animals scatter at the unfamiliar noise. 

The light still ducks into the open side of the lantern, seemingly sulky.

Another spirit, this one appearing as an Aarakocra, though glowing faintly blue, appears next to the first. She (and though its hard to tell, the spirit is definitely female) floats next to him, feet just above the dirt.

“Oh let up a bit Phil. They are just children, still learning.”

Phil lets out a lighthearted sigh “Yeah yeah, Kristen. I know.”

The strange duo continue through the forest in comfortable silence, punctuated by the occasional friendly scolding of a naughty spirit or two.

-x-

A battlefield rages as one figure charges through the flagging army. The half-orc roars, the sound echoing strangely through the boar-skull helm he wears. His axe comes down, cleaving the head off the unfortunate soldier in front of him. Though strangely, no blood spills from the corpse, instead it had been seemingly soaked up by the blade.

“The Blade! The Blade is here!” A shout comes from another soldier who witnessed the act. It echos across the battlefield, and the men opposite the intimidating figure begin to break. 

He roars again, casting blasts of eldritch magic and swinging an ever-changing blade through his enemies. A trident that pierces two people at once, punching through plate like paper. A sword, stabbing clean through a man’s throat. An axe that cleaves another soul in half. His allies rally around him, and the battle is won. For now.

The Blade’s head whips around, the empty sockets of the boar skull staring into nothing. Voices seem to talk to him, encouraging and insulting in equal measure. The half-orc shakes himself down, red cloak rippling down from his shoulders like a waterfall of blood. The fabric is soaked in the stuff as well.

“Blade! You did well out there today. Get yourself cleaned up, there's more fighting to do tomorrow.” The general of the army clapped the other man on the shoulder, wincing at the blood that’s soaked through the cape’s fur.

“Not much more for me to do. Morale is broken, the war is as good as won now.” The ever-changing blade seems to have settled into a solid form now, a broadsword, almost as tall as the Blade himself. 

It’s planted into the ground just outside the half-orc’s tent, and the tallest man in the army ducks inside, leaving the cape discarded on the dirt as he collapses into a chair.

_Good sacrifice today_  
_Plenty of blood_  
_Blood_  
_Blood for the Blood God_  
_For the Blood God_

He shakes his head, quieting the voices that ring inside his skull.

“Plenty of blood shed today. More tomorrow. Wait.”

-x-

A boy watches, wide eyed, as a lovely elf woman, clad in the gear of an adventurer strums a guitar. A streak of blonde hair falls over her eyes, a stark contrast to the rest of her black hair. She looks up to brush it away, and spots the boy in the corner, watching her with bright eyes.

“Hey kid. You wanna learn?” She pats the bench next to her. The boy hesitates for a moment, then climbs up next to here, eyes turning to the strings.

“So heres how you play.” She strums over a few chords, turning them into a basic beginner’s tune, then hands it over, “Now you?”

The boy takes it reverently, as if he’s afraid to break it. The seaside town didn’t see many adventurers pass through it, but most of them had been kind. Some, less so.

Under the female elf’s gentle guidance, he shakily produces a tune, then plays it over and over, as if hypnotized.

When he stops, looks up in curiosity about the sudden silence, she introduces herself. “I’m Niki. I’m a bard, and I think you’d do well at the bard’s college, Ustenvald. I could take you there, if you want?”

The boy glances around furtively, but there's no guardians to stop him, “I’d like that, I think. I’m Wilbur.”

His arm shifts on the guitar, and the sleeve of his ratty shirt hikes up to reveal a bruise. Niki freezes at the sight, but forces herself to ignore it to comfort this child. There's no way she’s leaving this child in this shoddy little port town, and her team mates could suck it up and deal with it.

-x-

Another boy, even younger, snaps at the hand that's reaching for him from where he’s curled up in a barrel, hunched protectively over his meager supply of food.

“Whoa there, kid. I’m here to help ya.” A bearded face, middle aged (but very old to the child) appears in his vision.

The boy snaps again, teeth almost closing around the other man’s fingers this time.

“Oh in the name of the maker.” Two hands find their way under the boy’s arms, lifting him out of the barrel. “C’mon kid. Didn’t ya learn not to bite the hand that feeds ya?” The older man, strong from years of working with heavy objects, lifts him easily, carrying him into a nearby shop.

Soup is already on the table, still steaming hot.

The boy is put in a chair and the man sits across from him, tucking in easily.

“Go on, eat. I’ll not take it away.” The man gestures with his spoon, “I’m Sam. And I can’t help but notice you’ve been on the streets recently?”

The boy growls, but takes up the spoon and eats. It’s clear to Sam that the boy hasn’t been on the streets for long, he still has manners after all.

“Tommy. And my parents are dead, before you ask.”

Sam almost cracks a grin at that, holding himself back with effort.

“Alright then. You’re pretty good with your hands, aren’t ya? I’ll teach ya my craft, but ya have to promise to try, no half-assin’ anythin’.”

Tommy looks up, eyes narrowed, “Why?”

“Cause ya show the most promise, of all the street rats. I don’t have kids, don’t plan on havin’ any. Still need someone to teach the craft to though."

Tommy peers at the man through narrowed eyes, always suspicious. He relents. It would be nice to get off the streets

"Fine. I'll do it.”


	2. The One were Techno and Phil bond over murder

The forest was peaceful, for the moment at least. No harmful beasts had crossed Phil’s path in at least a week, and he was growing steadily more suspicious. Typically he’d find a gathering of gnolls, a group of goblins, a cult of kobolds, something. And yet, his journey through this particular forest was completely calm. 

Kristen floated next to him, seemingly relaxed, but her eyes were ever watchful. The spirits of Phil’s lantern were bolstered by the quiet, darting in and out to play amongst the leaves and bushes. 

Suddenly. Sharply. A high pitched scream rent through the air, the sound of sheer terror startling the birds into the air. Phil’s eyes went wide and he darted through the underbrush, strangely graceful despite his large stature and wingspan. Crashing through the last bit of bush, he swings the lantern staff just in time to block the downward slash of a badly damaged sword, swung by a hooded figure, in a dark purple robe that just barely brushed the dirt. The person on the ground, a older human, in his late 70s, Phil would guess, backed away slowly, and Phil stepped forwards to face the cultist properly.

So, this was probably why the forest was peaceful of beasts. Some cult had yoinked it for their own needs.

Phil planted the lantern bearing staff upright in the ground, shifted his weight lower, and drew a long hunting knife from his belt, readying for combat. The figure attempted a slice with the sword, but Phil slid to the side easily before lunging forward and catching the figure by the throat. The sword dropped from their hand in shock and he pressed the advantage to take the figure to the ground.

“Where’s the rest of your little cult, hmm?” He was practically on top of the cultist now, knife to their throat.

“Just-just a little ways in. Please don’t kill me!”

“If you’re helpful, I’ll consider letting you go.”

“I’m! I’m just one of the townsfolk! They kidnapped me, forced me to help them with their rituals and stuff!” The figure on the ground begins to tremble and he reluctantly lets them up. The cultist brushes off the robes and lowers the hood, revealing a young man, only 20 years old or so. 

“Jamie?” The old man on the ground croaks out, a hand reaching up.

“Huh? Oh! I’m so sorry Mr. O’Clancy, they told me to find you specifically.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised, they’re a bunch of knowledge-hoarders, if I’m not mistaken.” The man gestures at the robes that Jamie is wearing?”

“Really now? Would you happen to know a bit about this cult?” Phil hates to interrupt the reunion, but anything the old man knew about this cult would be helpful.

“I’ve read about it. Its the Cult of Hemora, a demon lord of knowledge. The lord craves it, and grants boons to those who gift him with books or other forms of it. That’s his symbol, there.” The man points to three eyes embroidered on the robe, each making up one side of a triangle.

“Thank you, I’ll be going to clear them out. You’ll be fine then, you two?”

“Yes, yes. And thank you for going to take care of them. People’ve been going missing for a few weeks now.”

Jamie leads the old man off, towards what Phil presumes to be the town.

“I sure hope you don’t plan on going in there alone.” Kristen appears again once they’re safely out of earshot, settling back down next to Phil.

“Who’m I supposed to call then?”

Kristen gave him a side eyed deadpan, she was good at those. “Techno?”

Phil groaned, realizing that yes, as usual, his wife was right. “Fine.” He drew out the last bit of the word in frustration, looking around in his pockets for a bit of parchment and a pen. He finds a half of a scroll. And the ink is a gem like emerald, like the real one Techno had given him before they’d parted again.

One of his children -his spirits- darted up eagerly. He chuckled, “You were always fond of Techno, weren’t you.” And gives the paper, now folded into the shape of a swan, to the spirit. It settles in nicely, like they do most of the time, and the swan comes to life, floating away over the treetops. Phil decides to camp nearby, to keep an eye on the cave system the cultists had repurposed and to wait for the response.

-x-

TechnoBlade is, as usual, coated in the blood of his enemies at the moment when the bird-spirit arrives. He waves it off at first, believing it to be just a regular bird or something that had gotten brave.

_Phil_   
_Phil needs help_   
_Go to Phil_

The chorus in his head take a break from the constant chanting of blood, to bring his attention back to the bird.

Techno grumbles, but retreats off the battlefield to let the small bit of paper perch on his hand, unfolding it smoothly.

The blood covering him slowly disappears, apparently into thin air, as the constant crowd of previous contractors to his patron suck it away, taking power from the life-force within.

“So Phil needs help, huh? Guess I know where I’m going now.”

Without hesitation, he allows the spirit that had brought the message to perch in his crown, giving it a message to send back, through that weird link they all had with Phil’s spirit wife.

“I’ll be there in a few days. Probably.”

He goes off to find the general of whatever army he’s been commissioned to fight in this time, handing over a portion of the gold he’d been paid, and leaves.

It doesn’t take him long to travel to the location Phil had specified in his letter, being a living map after all.

He doesn’t listen to the voices that gently mock the thought

Four days after the spirit arrived to Techno, he finds Phil, with his little shelter in the woods.

“Techno! It’s good to see you again mate.” Phil’s voice shows the other man is clearly overjoyed to see him, an unfamiliar feeling for Techno.

“Phil. Hallo.”

“C’mon in. Its not much, but its shelter, I guess.” Phil gestures to the small lean-to that Techno’s just now noticing. He grunts, ducking into the space. The natural curve of the rock it’s against allows a nice smoke-hole, keeping the air inside the shelter clean.

“So, what’s the plan?”

“Well, apparently what’s down there is some cult to a knowledge hoarding demon lord called Hemora. So we go down there, fuck shit up, and come out victorious.”Techno cracked a grin, “Just like old times?”“Exactly. We’ll go down in the morning.”“Sounds good to me.” Techno nodded, he’d worked with less before.

-x-

The next morning, some god had decided to pour the entire ocean onto their heads, or so it appeared. 

Phil grumbled as he peered outside the shelter, the rain pelting down outside. 

“Fuckin’ hell it’s really coming down out there.” He eyed the raindrops, knowing that it was going to soak him to the bone.

Techno grunted from where he was sat, sharpening the edge of a backup knife. “Yea, it doesn’t look fun out there.”

“We gotta go though, shouldn’t leave the cultists there for long, who knows what shit they could get up to.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m comin’.” Techno levers himself up, one hand gripping his trident. The entrance of the mineshaft was a few hundred meters away, which felt like far longer in the pouring rain.

The moment Techno and Phil ducked under the shelter of the mine, Phil flicked his wrist, casting prestidigitation to dry them off.

“Thanks.” Techno still shook himself slightly, out of habit more than anything else.

“No problem.” 

The mine was quite dark, but it took only a moment for their eyes to adjust to the dimmer light. 

Techno took point, making sure to check for and disarm any traps along the way. There was one, a basic rope across the floor, which would send a log tumbling down at their heads. The rope was stepped over, undisturbed. 

Voices came from up ahead, distinctly human in nature, although the words were too quiet to make out.

Techno lowers himself into a crouch, creeping along the walls until he was just next to the chamber. Phil followed him, wings tucked tight to his back.

Techno held up four fingers and signaling that there were four people in the room, guarding another entrance.

Phil plants his lantern at the entrance, not wanting the smaller spirits to get hurt in the fray.

He nods and as one, the two enter the room, weapons at the ready. Techno is a whirl of motion as his trident slams into one of the left side guards, piercing through the thin leather armor under the cultist robes easily. The man dies with a gurgle, throat pierced by one of the prongs. The other three attempt to shout, but Phil is there with a Zone of Silence, prepared beforehand. The men can scream however loudly they like, but no sound exits the glimmering dome.

Phil draws his sword, leaping forward to cut at the cultists on the right.

The moment that the blood-red gem on Techno’s starts to glow, it shimmers and shifts into a short sword, much more suited to closer combat. In this time, the second of Phil’s cultists attempt to cast a spell, but is silenced by his sword before it can leave his hand. It’s over within moments, the advantage of surprise their ally. 

The two look at each other wordlessly, before going through the pockets of their foes. Coin and other trinkets are found, and tucked away into pouches to look at later. They dump the bodies in a corner, covering them with a tarp quickly. It wouldn’t keep someone from finding them for long, but it does hide them from a quick inspection of the room.

Phil retrieves his lantern and they continue through the tunnels, which slope downward gently, until they come across a much larger cavern, hollowed out through clear use of magic. The walls are too smooth to be done by human hands, and the place is a perfect dome, the top obscured in shadow.

Torches line the walls, casting the entire dome in flickering firelight, and in the center stands someone who appears to be the leader of the cult, dressed in black robes lined in golden thread, the hood pulled up over his head. 

“Tonight, dearest chosen, we summon the God himself!”

Techno’s eyes widened, they had to interfere, and fast. Hemora wasn’t a generous god, not without plentiful sacrifice. The voices in his head rise to a crescendo, wanting a show grand enough to honor the Blood God.

And a show the voices would get.

He glances at Phil and sees the same steely determination in his eyes. This wouldn’t be an easy fight, not for a long shot, but his weapon’s almost good for another shift and the voices were on his side.

Phil steps out first, sniping the leader down with an arrow to the shoulder, before stabbing the lantern deep into the earth and casting Pyrotechnics on the lantern nearest to the cultists. It explodes in a blast of flame, searing bright for a moment in time.

The cultists scream, startled at the sudden flash of bright light, and at the sight of their leader fallen onto the altar.  
Techno sprung forward, stabbing one of the cultists before his blade flashes and changes, lengthening into a bastard sword quickly. His other hand lashes out, catching another with a blast of eldritch energy, sending the figure to the ground in a heap, he doesn’t get up.

Phil draws his bow again, an arrow appearing on the string as soon as its drawn back. He stays to the back of the cavern, picking off cultists with quick shots instead of engaging in closer combat. 

When the cultists finally regather themselves, they attempt to launch a counter attack, focusing on the intimidating red-skinned figure in their midst. Spells shoot toward Techno, but a golden shield springs into a place, and Techno offers up a quick thanks to the voices for the help.

They chime back cheerfully, and the fight continues. He loses track of time, the only thing he’s keeping track of is the blood spilled on dirt floor, turning it into mud, and the blood that coats his body, sucked up by the spirits almost as fast as he can spill it.

In his haze, he doesn’t even realize the last of the cult has fallen until he’s stood in the middle of a field of bodies, breathing heavily. The leader is still alive, leaning against the altar for support.

“Fool!” The man’s reedy voice pierces through the chamber and Techno’s head whips up, red eyes gleaming.

“You Fool! The blood you’ve spilled here today gives rise to the all-knowing. Hemora, I beseech you!” The dagger in the leader’s hand comes down, piercing into an eye like gem sitting on the alter like butter. The gem splits straight down the middle with a loud crack, echoing in the large chamber.

A wave of what can only be described as sheer power rolled over them. Techno grit his teeth, plunging the sword into the dirt in an attempt to stay grounded. The voices quieted, and roared right back when the wave passed, louder than they’d ever been.

Suddenly, they went completely silent, as a sickly greenish light shone from the altar. 

“Who summoned me?” An oily voice emitted from the light, and a figure emerged. Although it was humanoid, it looked fuzzy around the edges, like it didn’t quite fit in the skin. All the hair on the back of Techno’s neck rose, and he was far more alert than before. Techno wasn’t sure what to make of this god or demon or whatever it was, but he’d never heard the voices go silent of their own volition, and that was worrying.

“Fuck.” He heard Phil mutter from where the Aarakocra was pressed against the wall, as if the ranger could disappear through sheer will.

Fully black eyes fixed themselves on the half-orc’s form, as the most prominent figure in the room.

“What have we here, hmm?” The god, Hemora, clearly, saunters forward, and Techno freezes as two fingers are placed under his chin. He’s not too magically inclined, knowing only what his patron imparts, but even he could sense the sheer magic running through the god.

The god’s physical form is shorter than Techno’s, but that didn’t make him any less intimidating.

“How intriguing. I can tell, you are just full of esoteric knowledge, aren’t you.” The god drawls, tracing a thumb down Techno’s jaw. He bit down on a sarcastic reply, instead starting to think very very hard.

_Heeeh_   
_Anyone listening?_   
_Help?_

He prays, still frozen in place.

“Cat got your tongue?” The god hums, a low threatening note that promises nothing good.

A low rumble sounds through the chamber and a familiar heat rises behind Techno. He watches as Hemora’s eyes widen, feels the god let go of his chin. Techno shakes himself, just a little, and backs off to watch the confrontation play out. He doesn’t have a death wish, and standing between two gods is not great for his health. He pulls at Phil, gesturing for them both to leave before the two get into an actual fight.

The escape couldn’t really be described as stealthy, but given how the air in the cavern was somehow getting hot and cold at the same time, how everything felt strangely heavy, and how a pool of dread was slowly growing behind Techno’s ribs, they were completely undetected.

The moment they cleared the mine entrance, a loud crack sounded from inside, and the entrance to the place collapsed.

“Well I’m glad we weren’t in there when that came down.” Phil glanced back at the pile of dirt, rock and lumber, before setting off in a direction, “C’mon Techno, we’ve got a town to inform that the cultists are gone.”

Techno allowed himself a moment to try and communicate with the voices again, prodding at where that bond normally was active.

At his disturbance, the voices roared back in full force, expressing concern and shock at the events. He held back a chuckle, and patted them metaphorically on the head, everything was fine.


	3. The One where Wilbur learns, that his actions have consequences (And Phil gains a son)

“Wilbur Soot. I assume you know why you’ve been called here today?” The imposing form of Headmistress Ilvia looked down at him, steel grey eyes hard.

Wilbur is quiet, for once, and twists the bottom of his sweater in his hands, a nervous tic he’s never been able to squash.

The headmistress tuts, fingers tap tap tapping on the wood of her desk. Her office is an intimidating place, walls of hewn stone and large wooden bookshelves designed to make the offending student feel small.

Wilbur certainly feels small right now.

“Mr. Soot, in the span of only three days, you’ve managed to charm the entire student body with your voice, flood the first floor with saltwater, and Polymorph Professor Vani into a large owl. What do you have to say for yourself.”

Wilbur opens his mouth, as if to speak, but closes it again sullenly, staring at the floor. Its not like any of this was his fault. He didn’t want to sing in the first place, but Vani, the asshole, pressured him into it. In what was possibly the most echo-y place in the entire school. Wasn’t his fault the other students were so weak willed. The flooding might have been intentional, but it was out of revenge!

Headmistress Ilvia sighs, “You know we only took you in as a favor to Miss Nihachu, a vaunted alumni to this institution. But you really have gone too far this time. I’ve no choice but to expel you.”

Wilbur freezes, unable to process what he’s heard. Expelled? Sure he was wild, at times, but his grades and performance was one of the best in the school! Surely he couldn’t be expelled.

“I am very sorry about this, but your behavior this time was truly out of hand.

And in that very moment, his world came crashing down around him. Moving mechanically, he packs his things, carefully slinging his guitar across his back, over the pack he’d been given. The Ustenvald Academy of Music had been his home for the better part of three years. And now he was being kicked out.

Of course he was.

Nothing good ever lasted, and he had been a fool to believe this would.

-x-

Which, ironically, lead to a series of events which now found Wilbur running for his life, pursued by a pack of wolves. 

“Shit shit shit shit shit!” Wilbur muttered, taking a sharp left turn when a tree loomed in front of him. He couldn’t get his guitar out, considering it was slung across his back and he was still running full tilt, and he couldn’t even charm them with his voice, cause he was very out of breath.

Suddenly, he heard a painful yelp, followed by a hard thud of a body hitting a tree.  
Wilbur turned, catching a glimpse of pink hair and red skin before he tripped, tumbling to the ground with a shout.

He scrambles to his feet quickly, just in time to watch as the incredibly intimidating person in front of him plunge the prongs of a trident into the body of a prone wolf. 

“You alright?” The man turns to him and wow, that boar skull helm was very very scary. 

“Uhh, yeah, yeah I’m fine.” Three years of learning how to be eloquent enough to be playing for emperors and empresses and one, albeit very intimidating, man was enough to throw him off completely.

“Hm.” The man grunted out, holding a hand out to Wilbur, “TechnoBlade, I’ll escort you to the nearest city.”

Wilbur paled a little, before taking the half-orc’s hand. He’d heard of the Blade, of course. Anyone who went to the Institute had. “I’m Wilbur, Wilbur Soot, and if its all the same to you, I’d rather avoid the cities for now.”

Wilbur could feel the gaze of those red, red eyes picking him apart, looking at the shabby clothing and worn guitar on his back.

“Right. This way then.” Techno struck out in a direction that was very much not the way the city was. 

“Wait- I just said.”

“Not a city, a friend.”

Wilbur really didn’t see much of an option, and so he followed the broader man, stepping carefully where the other did.

It took several days of travel, something that Wilbur had been getting used to over the past month, but really, TechnoBlade put him to shame. He felt like the man could probably cover the entire distance without rest, and was only stopping because he was there.

On the fourth day, they reached what seemed like a much calmer forest, and Wilbur felt at ease enough to shift his guitar to his front, and start strumming a few chords. He could see Techno’s (when did the half-orc become Techno?) ears flick back, but there wasn’t any other reaction. Wilbur hummed a little tune to accompany the guitar, but otherwise stayed quiet.

Right as the sun was setting, they came across a cottage. Two stories, clearly well loved and very cared for. 

Techno went straight up to the door, knocking on it solidly.

“Coming!” A voice trilled from within, and when the door opened, Wilbur couldn’t stop his jaw from falling open. Inside stood an Aarakocra, one of the bird-folk from the east. His mouth snapped shut with an audible click. 

“Oh, Techno! Come on in. And you’ve brought a friend?”

“Saved him from some wolves, thought he needed a place to stay, didn’t want to go to a city.”

Techno entered the cottage and Wilbur trailed him, looking around awkwardly, “I don’t mean to impose.”

“Oh, its nothing, I’m Phil, and this’s my home. You’re welcome to stay if you need.”

Wilbur nodded shakily, it would be nice to have a home for a while, even if it didn’t work out in the end.

“I’m Wilbur, its uh, nice to meet you.” Minding his manners, Wilbur held out a hand to shake. Phil took it with a grin, but didn’t let go, and instead pulled him towards another door.

“This’ll be your room, there's a bed and some sheets there now, and a wardrobe for your things.”

Wilbur peered around Phil’s frame, taking in the simple room. It was very different to his quarters at the Institute, where every surface was covered in tapestry and the furniture was rich mahogany. And yet, he liked this room far more. It felt comforting, in a way that the cold stone of Ustenvald never had. 

“I’ll leave you to unpack then.” Phil’s voice broke through Wilbur’s thoughts, bringing him back into the moment, “I’ll call when dinner’s ready.”

The Aarakocra exited the room, careful not to bang his wings against the door frame, and closed the door behind him, leaving Wilbur in the room. 

He dropped his satchel on the floor, leaned the guitar against the wall roped onto the bed with a sigh, flopping back onto the soft mattress. Fuck, he was exhausted, mentally and physically. Wilbur shut his eyes, for a moment, he told himself, only for a moment.

-x-

Phil poked his head into his new guest’s room to call the boy for food, only to chuckle quietly at the sight of the prone figure on the bed. Techno had warned him the boy might be asleep after days of hard travel and not much rest. Silently, he shifted the boy -Wilbur- so that he was lying with his head on the pillows, another blanket from the wardrobe thrown over him.

No matter where the kid came from, he’d be safe now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a headcanon or prompt? Come yell it at me on Tumblr
> 
> https://words-in-the-wind.tumblr.com/


	4. The One where Tommy and Tubbo meet

Tommy jerked awake in his bed, startled to awareness by the loud clang of a bell. The warning bell.

Eyes wide in realization, he rolls of the low mattress, grabbing the hammer sat beside his bed for this very eventuality. The town was rather prone to orc raids, especially in the fall when the harvest had just come in. His mentor, Sam, the person who had saved him from the streets, met him out in the main area of the shop, face grim.

“It’s a warband.”

Tommy could feel the blood drain from his face, this wasn’t good. Orc warbands were rare, as the infighting between tribes often caused too much strife for two or more to cooperate. But when they did come together to form a warband, the resulting fight was often enough to overwhelm even the guards stationed at smaller cities, much less a smaller town like this one. 

He grit his teeth, peeking through the slats of the shutters over the windows. The bell had gone silent, and the whole world felt eerily still. 

_Boom_

A muffled thud echoed through the buildings, and Tommy tensed. A battering ram, the orcs had a battering ram. 

Three more thuds came, each louder than the last, until the crack of wood splintering pierced the air and Tommy recoiled.   
He ducked down into the space below the window, back to the wall, praying to whatever god was listening that the orcs didn’t decide to raid their shop. Selfish, he knew, but in the moment, he didn’t care. 

Footsteps pounded the cobblestone roads outside of the shop, practically shaking the small shop. The loud clang of metal on metal started up, and soon, a loud scream tore through the air.

Tommy didn’t know how long he’d sat there, with Sam, on the floor of the humble shop, before the screams ended and the smell of smoke began to permeate the air.

“Do…do you think it’s over?” He could barely push the whisper out of his throat, but Sam heard him anyway.

Eyes grim, the older man shook his head, right when a sharp rap began at the door. Tommy froze in horror. Sam gestured frantically for him to move into the back room, and he did, scrambling faster than he ever moved in his life.

Before Tommy could get over to the inner room, he heard the door crack and a figure stride in. His world jerked upward, and he found himself caught by the back of his shirt, flailing in a much taller creature’s grasp.

The orc growled, face right up in Tommy’s as the boy froze on instinct. 

“Hey!” A familiar voice filtered through his awareness as the orc’s head whipped around. “Drop him!”

It was Sam, who hurled a heavy mallet straight at the orc’s skull. It hit, rebounding off of and hitting the floor with a thud. The orc howled in pain, dropping the gnome boy as he turned, facing the shorter man.

“Tommy, run!” Sam shouted, eyes fixed on the imposing, 8 foot tall figure in the middle of the artificer’s shop.

Tommy did, sprinting for the back room as he could hear the orc roar, and Sam’s scream of pain before everything went quiet as the door slammed shut. 

He locked it with shaking fingers and wedged a chair under the doorknob, just like Sam had taught him. Sam, who’d distracted the orc from taking him. Sam who was…

Tommy could feel the panic rising in his chest as he pushed it down. Not now. Any time but now.

He could hear the orc shuffling around in the main shop, opening cabinets and crates in his search for whatever the creature was looking for. He tried to calm his breaths as he scrambled for his emergency bag with food, clothes, some money, and most importantly, the small music player and two discs that him and Sam -he choked back a sob at the memory- had crafted, right after he’d accepted Sam’s offer. 

Shaking away the memory, he quickly looked around, trying to come up with an escape plan. Maybe he could get out the back window without anything spotting him. He was small, stealthy, quick. He could do this. He would do this.

A crash came as the orc clearly got sick of the front room, and was throwing his weight against the hastily barricaded door. If Tommy wanted to get out, he’d have to do it now.  
He opened the window, leaping out and shutting it just before the door crashed open, giving away under the orc’s strength. He couldn’t freeze, not now of all times. Tommy darted away, using the alleys that he knew like the back of his hand.

It wasn’t enough. He rounded the corner to the main gate just as his luck ran out. A trio of orcs spotted him, and were headed straight for his position.

Suddenly, the low call of a horn rang out, and thundering hooves filled the gate, bright steel flashing down to strike at the orcs. Two people, one a green-skinned tiefling, horns curling back over his head as he struck at the orcs with a gleaming scimitar, drawing blood onto the sharp edge. The other wasn’t astride a horse, but instead, was a centaur, black hair drifting around his ears as a spear sunk into an orc. 

A blast of fire came from the rear, impacting another orc as they began to flee away from the new threat. Tommy could only watch in shock as the newly arrived adventurer’s group began to fight against the orcs, slaughtering them through superior tactics and weapons. He didn’t notice an orc had come up behind him, and was lifted into the air for the second time today. “Hey!” Tommy shouted, thrashing in his captor’s grasp. The orc grinned widely, turning about to retreat down the street with his prize.

The centaur, who had been tied up in combat, clearly heard Tommy’s loud cry, wheeled around and charged towards the unaware orc. It realized, but too late as the spear pinned the orc by the shoulder to the wall, and a cutlass took off its head.

“Hey, kid, you alright?” 

It took Tommy a slow moment to realize the centaur was addressing him. And in that time, he’d been picked up, put on the centaur’s back and brought over the the caravan.

“Wait-” Tommy never got to finish his sentence before he was being swung around again, placed on a cart. There was another kid sitting there, a brown hooded shirt pulled over his head, in a meditative position

“Tubbo!” The centaur addressed the other kid, “This guy’s a little hurt, think you can do something about that?”

The kid startled out of his zoned out state, eyes landing on Tommy.

“Oh, yeah! Sure.” He held his hand out to Tommy.

Tommy took it, and felt the scrapes and bruises he’d acquired from the past few hours heal and close. 

“Thanks, big man.”

“No problem!” Tubbo tried to guide Tommy into a deeper conversation, explaining to him who everyone was, and he just went along with it. Anything to quiet the screaming inside.

-x-

The group of four that had been charged with protecting the caravan met up, each covering in blood (mostly not their’s) and tired after the long fight.

“I’m completely out.” The burnt orange colored humanoid sighed, running a hand over her wands.“Aren’t you, literally made of the elements, Fire-Fox?” The green tiefling ran his hand through his hair, grimacing at the strands matted with blood. His scimitar hung from the other, coated in the grey-ish blood of orcs.

Fire-Fox snarled at the tiefling, “I can still run out of juice, Syndicate.” She reached out, bonking him on the head lightly, “Can still do that, too.”

Syndicate winced slightly, rubbing the spot she’d hit, “Captain! Foxy’s being mean!”

The centaur, who had just trotted up next to them, shook his head, “Calm down, you two. Where’s Jericho.”

“Here!” The other tiefling of the group popped up, healing up the small cuts in his arms, “Don’t worry ‘bout me.”

“Let Tubbo take care of those, he’s better at it than you.” Fire-Fox nodded at the cuts that were sluggishly closing.

“Oh, right. About that, I found a gnome kid getting kidnapped by an orc, and Tubbo seems to have imprinted on him.”

“Ah, yeah.” They had finally gotten in sight of the cart, and yes, Tubbo and the mystery kid were asleep, curled up next to each other.

“Do you even know his name?”

“Nope, there wasn’t exactly time to ask.” Jordan, fondly nicknamed “The Captain” by his friends, drew up along side the cart, pulling a blanket out and laying it over the two kids, who barely stirred.

“I can’t believe you’ve adopted another one.” Jericho’s head fell into his hands as he groaned quietly, jumping onto the front of the cart. The people who paid them to protect the caravan wouldn’t be too happy about the new kid, but they could deal with it. There was no way any of the four adventurers were leaving an obvious orphan in a just-raided town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone has headcanons or prompt ideas, feel free to comment or come yell at me via Tumblr asks.
> 
> https://words-in-the-wind.tumblr.com/


	5. The One where Tommy and Tubbo run away, find another dad, and the Captain is worried (but realizes they're okay)

“We don’t want your kind here!”

“Get out!”

“No one here to protect you two anymore!”“Scram!”

The leaders of the newest merchant caravan the Mianitians had been hired to protect were far less tolerant of non-humans than the Captain had expected. And so, while the four adult adventurers were away getting supplies for the journey, Tubbo and Tommy found themselves getting thrown out of the group.

“C’mon Tubbo, we don’t need to deal with these dickheads anymore.” Tommy griped, tugging Tubbo, who’s hood had been practically shredded by the hostile humans, away from the carts. His vocabulary had been significantly expanded by a trip guarding a sea merchant, who’s sailors had no qualms about swearing in front of the children.

“But, but the Captain, and the rest of the Mianitians, they’ll be worried.”

“Its fine, big man, we’ll wait for them near the general store or something.” Tommy kept tugging, before walking into a strangely soft wall with an oomf. "What the fuck?"

The wall laughed.

Wait...

“Tommy!” Tubbo cried out, looking up at the Aarakocra. “I’m sorry about that, sir. He didn’t mean it.”

The bird-man let out a soft trill of laughter, “It’s fine, no harm done to me. Your friend’s alright?”

“Only hurt his ego, don’t worry.” Tubbo tugged Tommy to his feet, the other boy rubbing his head in irritation.

“Where’s your parents? You two seem a little young to be wandering.”

“Don’t got no parents.” Tommy huffed, making to walk away from the taller bird-dude.

“Woah woah woah, who the hell’s looking after you two then?”

“We’re adventurers!”

“Sure you are.” Bird-people were pretty hard to read, in Tommy's book, but he did seem more amused than upset.

“Seriously, we are!” Tubbo looked up at the man, a charming smile making its way across his face.

“Adventurers that need a bit of food, methinks?”

As if on cue, Tommy’s stomach let out a rumble, and the boy flushed red.

“C’mon, Wilbur, a friend of mine, is waiting at a place, you two can have some food, and as payment, tell me what you’re doing here.”

Tubbo elbowed Tommy in the side as the younger of the two opened his mouth to protest. Tommy shot him a faux-hurt glare, but shut his mouth anyway.

They followed the Aarakocra (Phil, he’d introduced himself) to a little hole-in-the-wall, where a half-elf had already ordered some food, and was digging in.

“Wilbur! I thought I told you to wait!”

“Was hungry,” the elf muttered out around a mouthful, “Who’re those.”

“Tommy and Tubbo, I’m waiting for them to tell me what they’re doing here.”

Tommy and Tubbo both perched on two chairs, waiting until the food was there before either of them started talking.

-x-

At the same time, Jordan was running around frantically, attempting to find the two before something else happened. He’d left Syndicate and Jericho to threaten the merchants, though he really wished nothing more than to kick one in the face. Hearing familiar laughter trickle out from a restaurant, he peeked in, finding Tubbo and Tommy laughing with two others, a very familiar Aarakocra, and some other non-human. Good, they were safe. Far safer than they had been with the Mianitians. They should stay that way, no matter how heartbroken he was to leave them behind. 

Besides, the Angel of Death was known to protect children.

Slowly, quietly, he backed away, turning back the way he came to find the merchants sufficently cowed when faced with Fire-Fox's, well, fire.

When he explained what was going on, they all nodded seriously. It was better for the two young boys to have a stable home, not traveling around being in danger. They could live with that.

-x-

By the time Tommy or Tubbo remembered about that they had to go back to their group, it was dark out.

Kindly, Phil escorted them back to the place where the carts had sat before, but the caravan had clearly left already

Tubbo sat down hard in the packed dirt, staring at the empty space.

“What are we gonna do now, Tommy?”

Tommy clutched his bag to his chest, glad he’d thought to take it along for the day.

“I-I don’t know.”

“Boys!” Phil called from a few feet away, waving a piece of parchment, “I think your group left you two a note?”

Tubbo darted over, hands plucking the parchment delicately from Phil’s hands.

“Dear Tubbo and Tommy,” He read out loud, for Tommy’s benefit. “I think we all know it was time to part. The Mianitians’ were contract bound to protect this caravan, even after what they did. I’d like you two to stay with the Aarakocra, he’ll protect you better than we ever could. We’ll come visit, I swear. From, Jordan.”

Tommy felt tears well up in his eyes. He’d liked the Captain, Jericho, Syndicate and Fire-Fox, even if they were a little eccentric at times. It felt like a home, traveling with them.

Well, at least he still had Tubbo, his best friend, with him.

-x-

Phil had failed to mention a second letter, addressed to him.

Well, not Phil exactly, but to the “Angel of Death,” a moniker that he’d during the same war he’d met Techno in. 

The note was fairly straightforward, Captain Sparklez, the leader of the Mianitians, wanted him to look after the two boys. Which, honestly, wasn’t too much of a chore. Tommy and Tubbo already integrated themselves well with Wilbur, who was showing more positive emotion towards the kids than pretty much anything else in his life.

Techno wasn’t due for a visit any time soon either, so the attic room was empty for the foreseeable future. Yes, having children around might even be good for Wilbur, make him a good role model or something.

Doubtful, but Phil had hopes.

-x- 

Having no other real option, Tubbo dragged a more reluctant Tommy back to Phil, their guardian for the foreseeable future. 

“Right, you two ready to head to my home?”

Tubbo planted an elbow into Tommy’s ribs as the stubborn expression on the other boy’s face deepened.

“Yes, sir.”

“It’s just Phil, sir makes me feel old.” Phil started walking to the outskirts of the town, towards his house.

“That’s cause you are, old man.” Tommy muttered under his breath.

Tubbo tensed, there was no way Phil hadn’t heard the snark. Thankfully, the other man just trilled in laughter.

“Compared to a child like you, even Wilbur could be considered old.”

Tubbo stifled a snort at the offended look on Tommy’s face.

“Excuse you! I’m a big man now! Right Tubbo?”

Tubbo could only nod in response, to busy fighting off the giggles.

“Whatever you say, Tommy.” Phil said brightly, in the way people do when they’re humoring a child.

Tommy clearly didn’t pick up on that, and Tubbo cared too much for his peace of mind to inform Tommy of that development. He took it as a good sign though, Phil's seemed like a promising home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *dances in*  
> It's 3am and I'm far too awake for this.  
> Come yell prompts or something at me via Tumblr: https://words-in-the-wind.tumblr.com/  
> (or the comment section idk man)


	6. The One where Phil gets cursed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uhhh yeah so I'm still alive, hello  
> Midterm week kicked my ass, and I'm still crawling through Uni, so updates are gonna be sporadic

So, yeah, Kristin was right. Trying to take on a witch on his own really was a bad idea. Her wind magic prevented him from getting up in the air, and kept buffeting his arrows away, while her spells were absolutely devastating at close range.

He huffed in frustration as yet another true shot arrow was deflected, slinging the bow back across his back. Close range would have to do.

He drew his dagger, darting in as quick as he could. 

The witch was faster, and cast a binding spell. Phil could feel vines crawl up his legs, restraining him and preventing movement. Frantically, he hacked at the plants, but they were too thick to cut through before the witch got to him.

“Got you!” The witch singsonged, planting a hand directly on his head and muttering arcane words quietly under her breath. Too quiet for Phil to hear.

“Now, you’ll experience true salvation. You don’t have to live as a bird anymore!” She cackled, disappearing in a flash of light as the vines around Phil collapsed.

And he went down with them, searing pain running through his body, more painful than he’d even experienced in the past. It was like every feather, every inch of down was pulled out, all at once. The pain was even greater in his wings, which felt like they were being crushed and compacted.

Just as he thinks it couldn’t get any worse, the cool, darkness takes him as he passes out, slumping to the ground.

Kristen appears, having finally mustered enough energy to get back into the regular plane of existence, and gasps. The man, the human man in front of her is unfamiliar in looks, but in her heart she knows its Phil, her husband.

“What…happened?” She kneels down next to him, ghostly hand hovering just above his forehead. He’s burning up, and thats never a good sign.

She grabs for Phil’s lantern, long since fallen over in the fight, and coaxes the children out, directing them to build a makeshift stretcher out of vines and branches. Her magic is much weaker, but its enough to hold Phil up off the ground while the spirits lay the stretcher under him.

The trip home is tedious, and not just due to the fact she can’t touch the stretcher, and the children are weak as it is.

It doesn’t take long though, as Tubbo clearly got worried, and drug both Tubbo and Wilbur out of the house to search.

Kristen calls out when she senses them, just on the edge of her awareness. 

The spirits that like to hover around Tommy react, guiding the gnome in the right direction.

Tommy raced on, with Wilbur and Tubbo chasing after him, their longer legs making it sorta easy to keep pace. Only a little, though. 

Kristen waved, panic clear on her face as she pointed downward with her other hand, the humanized Phil laying unconscious on the stretcher.

“What the FUCK?” Tommy shrieked, definitely loud enough to shake the birds from the trees.

“Phil was cursed by that witch. I don’t know where she is, but he’s human now. And I think he has a fever.”

Wilbur cursed, gesturing for Tubbo to take up the other end of the stretcher. “We’ll carry him back. Tommy, try to make sure there isn’t anything dangerous on the way back please.”

Tommy nodded, darting off into the underbrush. Kristen sighs, entire body moving with the force of her relief, and glides forwards, following the boys as they make their way back to the cabin they all called home. 

“Kristen?” Tubbo sounds small and unsure, a tone he hadn’t reverted to since the first few weeks of them staying with Phil.

“Yes, Tubbo?”

“Is Phil gonna be okay?” He looks down at Phil’s unconscious form on the stretcher, worry lining every inch of his face.

“Phil’s going to be okay.” At least she hopes so. “He’s strong. He’ll pull through. He always does.” Kristen tries to keep her tone positive, pushing some form of comfort through. She might not be able to actually touch anything, but there is always a way to provide comfort.

-x- 

Phil awakes with a groan, feeling like he’d just been run over by an entire caravan of horses and their carts.

“Phil!”

He hears the shout, though it’s strangely quiet to his ears. He raises a hand to his pounding head and-

Wait.

Those…Those aren’t his hands. His hands are clawed, almost talons. These. These are human.

He wiggles them.

Huh.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees his boys rush into the room, worry clear in their eyes.

“Phil! Kristen told us what happened!”

“Why’d you go alone! We coulda helped you.”

“Is this some kind of illusion? Curse?”

Words poured from the three at the speed of sound, all mixing into a confounding mess in his aching head.“Boys!” Kristen’s voice cuts through the din, effectively silencing all of them. “I’m sure you three want answers, so let Phil explain.”

Phil tried to sit up on his own, but his body felt strange, like it wasn’t his own.

The trio leap to help, with Tommy passing Tubbo pillows to stuff behind Phil’s back as Wilbur holds him up.

As Phil settles, he tries to organize the last events he remembers into a reasonable timeline.

“Right. So I was fighting that witch I told you three about. The one with the racist views against the more bestial races. The last thing I remember was something about “not having to live as a bird anymore” and I think she placed a curse on me? I’m not sure.” He rubs his head with his hand (gods that’s going to need some getting used to). 

He misses the boys exchange looks, before Wilbur speaks up, “Okay. Any guesses on how we can, I dunno, cure this?”

A wave of exhaustion overcame Phil, and he let his head fall back onto the pillows. He closed his eyes, for just a moment, he told himself.

-x-

The door to the house swung open, and a whirl of red and white stormed in. A boar skull mask went clattering onto the dinner table and a tall figure stood in the center of the room, trying valiantly to calm himself. A week of scouring the countryside had yielded absolutely nothing. Not a single trace of whatever had cursed Phil into a human form.

He scowls deeply, poking his head into the now-human’s room to make sure the man was asleep, before sitting with a huff in front of the fireplace, staring into the stoked flames. 

“No luck, Techno?” Wilbur whistled through his teeth, holding a bowl of stew out to the warlock.

Techno took the bowl, sighing deeply. “Not a trace.” He drank deeply, fishing out a piece of beef from the depths. “Mmh, you’ve gotten better at cooking.”Wilbur grinned brightly, “Thanks! I’ve gotten a lot of practice lately.” A meaningful glance was directed towards Phil’s closed door.

Techno hummed noncommittally, intent on polishing off the stew as fast as possible.

“How…how long are you going to stay?”Techno leveled a meaningful look at Wilbur, before sighing again. “As long as Phil needs me.”

Considering that the ranger was pretty much the only being keeping the forest from being invaded by random monsters, that task fell on Techno until the other man recovered. Wilbur looked glad at his statement, plopping down on the couch next to him with a sigh.

“Thank the gods, I don’t know how we would’ve coped without you.” Wilbur flashes one of his grins, usually reserved for getting cheaper prices from shopkeepers.Techno grunts in response.

He hesitates slightly, before pulling four emeralds from his pocket. Inspecting them closely, he picks out the one carved with Wilbur’s name, handing it to the half-elf.

“Here. They’re enchanted so that you can send messages to mine.” He pulls out the matching emerald, this one set in a pendant, from inside of his shirt.

Wilbur gapes at him a little, before flinging his arms around the other man and pulling Techno in for a hug.

“Thank you.” Two words, but infused with so much feeling.

Techno awkwardly pats the shorter man on the back, “No problem. Just for convenience, y’know?”

Both of them knew otherwise, but didn’t say a word about it.

-x-

Over the next few days, he finds the time to give both Tommy and Tubbo emeralds as well.

Tommy takes his with a snarl and a “Fuck’s this?”, poking at Techno’s chestplate with a prototype of whatever the gnome was working on this time. When Techno’s back is turned, he examines it with a critical eye, taking in the light shimmer of enchantment dancing over it.

Tubbo takes it with wide eyes, clutching it to his chest and eyeing Techno warily, as if the half-orc was going to take it away. Techno deliberately takes three steps back after that.

“Get it set in a pendant or something, don’t lose it.” He leaves them both with those words, choosing instead to head back out into the forest, the voices cluttering his head.

Over the next few hours, he sees Tubbo’s hanging off a chain hooked over a horn and Tommy’s around his neck, wrapped in silver wire.

Nodding to himself, he disappeared back into the forest, intent on finding out what the voices were screaming over this time. He left a note on the table, hoping Wilbur could deal with whatever came to the house in the meantime.


End file.
